utching it for support. The Kid pressed
closer, and Hardy dodged around the table, placing it between him and
his enemy. The Texan hurled it to one side and smashed his way through
the saloon owner's guard.

Hardy, head down to escape The Kid's terrific blows, bucked ahead with
all his power and weight advantage and seized him about the waist. It
was apparent that he was trying to get his hands on one of the Texan's
guns. At close range, Kid Wolf smashed at him with both hands, his
fists smacking in sharp hooks that landed on both sides of Hardy's jaw.
To save himself, Hardy staggered back, only to receive a mighty blow in
the face.

"I'll kill yuh for that, blast yuh!" he cried with a snarl.

Hardy was strong and heavy, but the punishment he was receiving was
telling on him. His breath was coming in jerky gasps. Seizing the
high lookout stool from the faro layout, he advanced toward The Kid,
his eyes glittering with fury.

"I'll pound yore head to pieces!" he rasped.

"Pound away," Kid Wolf said.

Hardy whirled it over his head. Kid Wolf, however, instead of jumping
backward to avoid it, darted in like a wild cat. While the stool was
still at the apex of its swing, he struck, with the strength of his
shoulder behind the blow. It landed full on the rustler's jaw, and
Hardy went crashing backward, heels over head, landing on the wreckage
of the stool. For a moment he lay there, stunned.

"Get up!" snapped The Kid crisply. "Theah's still mo' comin' to yo'."

Staggering to his feet, Hardy made a run for the front door. Kid Wolf,
however, met him. Putting all the power of his lean young muscles
behind his sledgelike fists, he hit Hardy twice. The first blow
stopped Hardy, straightened him up with a jolt and placed him in
position for the second one--a right-hand uppercut. Smash! It landed
squarely on the point of Hardy's weak chin. The blow was enough to
fell an ox, and the rustler chief went hurtling through the door,
carried off his feet completely.

What happened then was one of those ironies of fate. The rope on which
Hardy had hanged the McCay spy, George Durham, still hung before the
door, its noose swaying in the wind some five feet from the ground.
Hardy hit it. His head struck the rope with terrific force--caught in
the loop for an instant. There was a sharp snap, and Hardy dropped to
the wooden sidewalk. For a few moments, his body twitched
spasmodically, then lay still and rigid.